


don't wanna wash the taste of you from my mouth

by princealliance (anaksemuabangsa)



Series: you can be my moonlight and sunshine [1]
Category: NCT (Band), SuperM (Korea Band)
Genre: Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, literally they're sleeping, sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-22 15:49:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22818712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaksemuabangsa/pseuds/princealliance
Summary: It's more than he could ever ask for. More than he could ever think of. Taeyong isn't sure where it ends and where it starts, or if there were ever any of those two at all. It feels like they're finally in the middle of something, for the first time.-In which Mark sleeps in Taeyong's bed, and Taeyong has to learn to live with it.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Lee Taeyong
Series: you can be my moonlight and sunshine [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643332
Comments: 34
Kudos: 364





	don't wanna wash the taste of you from my mouth

**Author's Note:**

> HELLOOOOOO yes this has no sex in it yes i am aware. Unbeta'd!!! Please point out any mistakes!!

It's more than he could ever ask for. More than he could ever think of. Taeyong isn't sure where it ends and where it starts, or if there were ever any of those two at all. It feels like they're finally in the middle of something, for the first time. With Mark asleep next to him, blankets pulled up and tucked under his chin. It feels like Taeyong is witnessing something bloom and change and take shape, but he's not sure _what_ it is.

It's warm in his tiny bed, his hand is starting to cramp where it's propping up his head, lying sideways as he is. But he can't stop staring at Mark's sleeping face, at the steady rise and fall of his chest. The soft, slow breaths he's taking.

It's mesmerizing. Pulls him in. In towards _what_. He's not sure.

The door creaks open and manager-hyung's tired face peeks in. He takes one look at Taeyong. Smiles fondly at the boy next to him, and closes the door. He's going home tonight, then. Manager-hyung's bed lies pristine and unused across the room. Taeyong stares at it.

He could sleep there. Not like the man will mind.

Taeyong slides down into the blanket instead, until his nose is right next to Mark's cheek, lays a tentative hand across Mark's stomach, and closes his eyes.

-

He wakes up before his alarm could peep a sound, turns it off just so Mark wouldn't wake up. He can hear the noisy steps Yuta is making outside of his door. Too eager too early in the morning. Taeyong rubs drowsiness away from his eyes, but doesn't make an effort to actually get up. It's too warm. Taeyong stares at the sleeping boy beside him. It's too warm and it smells like watermelon and the sea.

Taeyong shifts noiselessly, all just so he could keep it for a little bit longer. This haven of unsureness. The prospect of something that might or might not happen. The warmth of Mark next to him and the smell of sleep in the air. Deceivingly soothing and comfortable.

It doesn't stop Mark from stirring beside him, a noisy inhale coming out of him as he turns, unconsciously facing Taeyong.

Taeyong witnesses the moment Mark wakes, the slow-motion picture quality of it. The way his eyes stop moving underneath his lids. Soon Mark's sleepy eyes stares up at him, hooded and far away with remnants of sleep. In these wee hours, something leaks out from his irises. Something too unguarded. Too unreadable and too honest.

Taeyong suppresses a shudder. Swallows.

Mark turns around, yawns and reaches blindly for the glasses he left on Taeyong's nightstand. He sits up, the blanket pooling around his waist, and Taeyong's eyes follows the motion, drawn to the slouched slope of Mark's back. He reaches for it, puts a palm on top of the thin shirt, warm from sleep and their shared body heat.

Mark straightens up, grunts something that might be a good morning. Taeyong isn't sure, too lost with how much he _wants_. Wants what, not sure, wants to pull Mark back to his side, to close the gap he'd left last night between them. Wants to coax Mark into spending another fifteen minutes in his bed. Where he's left the scent of his shampoo on Taeyong's pillow.

Mark turns around, blinks at him and his outstretched hand. Sleep clearing from his eyes, and Taeyong's face burns.

"I'm gonna go shower," Mark rasps.

Taeyong pulls back his hand, balls it into a fist underneath the blanket. "Okay," he whispers.

And as Mark climbs off his bed and patters outside, Taeyong closes his eyes again, lays limp against the pillow and tries not to breathe in.

-

It used to happen like that, Mark too tired and Taeyong too indulging. Mark too young and Taeyong too soft. Mark too lonely and Taeyong too obliging.

Slipping into Taeyong's bed became his habit, and Taeyong's affection had been where his duty lied. As a hyung. They were in the same boat, the same sea of uncertainty in the name of rookies. Mark had been so young and so foreign, latching onto Johnny whenever he could. Taeyong didn't see a fault in letting a scared little boy sleep with him.

"You let the kid sleep with you?" Yuta had asked, even then he was so wise.

Taeyong nodded, shoes skidding against pavement, their breaths misted in the air. Taeyong stuffed his hands into the pockets of his downy jacket. The one Doyoung had gotten for him for his graduation. "From time to time, he gets scared."

Yuta had smiled. Just smiled. Had bumped his shoulder against Taeyong's and smiled.

"You were always too kind."

Taeyong hadn't known what to make of that. So he'd scoffed. "He's just a kid."

Yuta laughed, kindly. Understandingly. "You're just too nice," he'd paused. "You'd make a great leader, Taeyong, but be careful not to break too many hearts."

Taeyong had rolled his eyes, pushed Yuta by the shoulder, and hadn't thought about it further.

-

But then Taeyong _was_ leader. And Mark was leader, too. And Mark had Jisung and Jaemin sliding into _his_ bed and Donghyuck occupying his every other moment. The sight of Mark sitting in the middle of his bed became rarer and rarer, that the day it happened again Taeyong had to actually take a moment to stop and stare.

Mark sat, slumped onto a pillow, already half-dozing. Taeyong smiled, meaning to move past him, ruffling his hair. But Mark leaned up into the touch, and Taeyong, weak-willed to the whims of his junior, let his hand linger, carding Mark's fried hair carefully.

"Long day?" He asked, settling on the bed instead of going on to his desk like he meant to.

"Tired," Mark croaked. "Can I sleep here, hyung?"

"Of course you can," Taeyong answered, amused. "You're always welcome in my bed, you know that."

Mark nodded, already pitching forward, half asleep, eyes practically closed. Taeyong didn't have the heart to leave him, and took the most appropriate action. He guided Mark down by the shoulders to lie down, and before long he was lying down next to Mark, too.

Taeyong was dozing off before he knew it, original reason for going into his bedroom forgotten in the comfort of his own bed and Mark. But then Mark shuffled closer, snuggling onto Taeyong, making noises in his sleep, a frown on his forehead.

Taeyong's heart constricted in his chest, and he couldn't help it, surged forward to press a kiss to one of their youngest's forehead. Mark's face smoothed out immediately, and Taeyong smiled to himself.

"You work too hard," he said to nobody in particular. "You're amazing but you're going to break yourself one day."

Mark just sniffled, burying his face onto Taeyong's arm. Taeyong sighed fondly, patted Mark on the head. Wondered if he could keep Mark like this forever. Unbothered and young and warm and close.

-

But that was years ago, and this is now. And between then and now stretches a mile of tension and an almost and a drift that Taeyong doesn't know the beginning of.

Somewhere between then and now Mark's shoulders widen, and he stops coming to Taeyong for comfort.

Somewhere between then and now, Taeyong stops asking.

-

Nostalgia sparked in his chest when Mark looked at him over the papers of the new group proposal, a thin smile on his face.

Taeyong returned the smile.

 _Here we go again_. He thought, over the hustle and bustle of the staff around them. Over the noise. Mark stood out, cheekbones sharp in the harsh lights of the conference room, blonde hair messy and drooping over his eyes.

_Here we go again._

-

"Is this okay?" Mark asked, voice still small despite his new height. Arms scrunched together, curled up as he is on the edge of Taeyong's bed, as if expecting Taeyong to kick him out.

As if Taeyong would ever.

He didn't know why Mark was here. He didn't know why Mark knocked on his door, with tired eyes and a wobbly smile. Didn't know why Mark was in his bed. They were in America, again, It's a new group and Taeyong got it, maybe. Understood that hotels are foreign and Mark was still so young. More familiar to him yet more distant, and so young, still.

Taeyong nodded, arms crossed from the hallway, wet hair dripping water into his eyes. "My bed is always welcome for you."

Taeyong repeated. Same words. Different years. Different Mark.

Mark closed his eyes, kept himself away from the center of the bed, where Taeyong would lie.

Taeyong's hands itched to move him, to be comfortable enough to touch Mark like he used to. Taeyong stayed where he is instead, waited for Mark to settle.

Mark pulled the comforter up to his chin. Released a breath Taeyong wasn't sure Mark himself was aware of. "Okay," he whispered.

Something loosened inside his chest, his gut swept low, and Taeyong heard his heart in his ears.

Taeyong didn't think about it.

-

"Is this okay?" Mark whispered, sliding under Taeyong's blanket. Another concert, another hotel. Another sleepless night for Mark.

Taeyong didn't even open his eyes, didn't _care_ how Mark got access card to his room. He scooted backwards, made room, lifted the blanket just barely.

It's enough, Mark slid down readily, curled himself up into a ball again.

"Of course," he said, doesn't recognize the roughness of his own voice. "Now sleep," he ordered.

In the morning, he woke up to Mark's soft breathing against his ear, a warmth in his belly, and an unfamiliar ache inside his chest.

-

Somewhere between then and now, without him watching, Mark grows up.

Somewhere between then and now Mark's quiet doubt gets replaced by a quiet confidence.

Somewhere between then and now Taeyong _wants_.

-

It's the second night in a row that his sheets will smell like watermelon and seasalt. The tour is on hold, the foreignness is gone. Yet here he is. The boy of everyone's dreams. All grown up and lying across Taeyong in his bed inside the dorm. Where anybody could poke their head inside and _see._

Taeyong would ask, if he were braver. What changed, why now? What does he want?

But Mark's mouth parts, glazed eyes sweeping open to meet his, and Taeyong pushes down his questions.

"Are you tired?" Taeyong asks instead. Ever the good hyung. Worried over his dongsaeng.

A pink tongue darts out to wet puffy lips. "Yeah, long day." The words are whispered into the darkness. Taeyong feels the breath on his face, still. Smells like mint, like the horribly overpriced toothpaste Jaehyun likes to use.

Taeyong reaches up, wants to pacify, to comfort. To run his fingers through the rough strands. Give mark his touch like he used to. Wants Mark to draw comfort from it. But that was _then._ And they'll have company. Manager-hyung didn't go home tonight. Taeyong's hand hovers between them, flexing uselessly, before he tucks it underneath his head.

"Sleep," he says instead. "You'll feel better."

Taeyong dares, to pull the blanket up until it meets Mark's chin. Relief floods over him when Mark snuggles into it.

"M'kay, hyung." he answers. Ever a good dongsaeng. Ever so polite. "Good night."

Taeyong doesn't answer.

-

The tour ends. 127 gears up for another comeback.

Mark sleeps in his bed almost every night.

-

"You used to do this, you know?" Taeyong asks, into the darkness. Here, hidden by shadows, he's braver. Somewhat. Less afraid. Like there's less to bet on. Less to lose.

"Do what?" Mark mumbles. Taeyong can faintly make out the shape of his face. His closed eyes. The way his seemingly dark hair spills over the pillow. Black hair suits him best, Taeyong thinks. Makes him look like a real boy.

"Sleep in my bed, when you were younger."

Mark grunts in lieu of replying. "Used t'feel scared."

"Oh," Taeyong replies softly. And, after a beat, "and now?"

"Feels good," Mark mumbles softly. "Warm," he says, burying half his face into Taeyong's blanket.

Taeyong's throat constricts. He balls his hands into the sheets. Resists reaching out to touch skin.

"Oh." He feels lightheaded.

Taeyong doesn't sleep easily that night.

-

The mornings are always the hardest. It's when Mark walks out of Taeyong's door, carrying all serenity and warmth with him, and Taeyong's left all alone in his room; feeling too cold and too empty. Watermelon and the sea filling his lungs.

-

They're waiting for another flight, again. Taeyong could fall dead asleep on his feet if he wants to. He folds himself down on the cushy seat instead, head lolling back.

Mark leans over to him, brows furrowed.

Taeyong itches to put his thumb between this brows. Itches to soothe. To comfort.

"Hyung, are you alright?"

"Yes," Taeyong answers too quickly. "I'm fine."

"Sleepy?"

"Tired."

"That's alright," Mark comments, reaching over to pat Taeyong's knee. Hand too warm on top of Taeyong's jeans. "We'll nap together in the hotel and you'll be as right as rain."

It's charming. Disarming. The way he says it. With a smile that spells the entirety of sureness with just an underside of awkwardness. Means it to be comforting. It's endearing, instead, and Taeyong finds himself smiling.

"Yes, and you'll sleep with me, right?"

Mark blinks at him. "Of course."

"Good," Taeyong says, he looks away, taps a finger on his thigh, dangerously close to where Mark is still keeping his hand. "I can't sleep without you nowadays."

"Oh," Mark replies, small.

Taeyong frowns. He opens his mouth, thinking he'd made a mistake, but Mark stops him with a squeeze.

"Later, hyung. We have to go, come on."

Taeyong nods. They walk side by side to the plane, the back of Mark's hand brushing against his all the way there.

-

Somewhere between then and now, Taeyong sees Mark every single hour of every single day of every single week.

Somewhere between then and now, Taeyong learns the comfort of Mark's body heat; to crave it every night; learns the way his blood sings, electrified, when they sit too close to each other.

Somewhere between then and now, Taeyong catches Mark's gaze just as he finishes his pre-concert prayers, catches a toothy grin, and his breath sticks in his throat.

-

"You have to tell me what you want," Taeyong whispers, they're in his bed again, and it's getting too much. The smell of watermelon and seasalt is a comfort to him now, and it clings on Taeyong on mornings. Yuta asked him if he changed colognes. "I can't keep doing this, Mark-ya, I can't keep doing this."

Mark doesn't answer. Dead asleep to the world. He's pretty, even in his sleep. Eyelashes resting against his cheeks. Prettier, even. But Taeyong still can't find it in him to reach out and touch. Can't find it in him to pull him close. Not when Mark has never crossed the invisible line they've drawn themselves. The one Taeyong is never sure where it is.

But Taeyong can't kick him out of his bed either.

"You have to tell me what you want."

Taeyong wants to cry.

-

Somewhere between then and now, Taeyong's skin burns when they touch.

Somewhere between then and now, Taeyong learns he'd give Mark the world.

-

"Mark--"

Mark's mouth is persistent on his, and Taeyong wants so badly to cave in, but he can't do this. Can't do this and walk away knowing how Mark tastes like, can't walk away after knowing how Mark feels underneath him.

"Hyung," Mark pulls away, pants, already breathless. Wide, blown eyes staring down at him. He smells like the three bottles of peach soju he'd downed before they got home.

He pushes Mark's away by his shoulders, Mark goes so willingly. Sits back on his legs, face scrunching up in hurt.

"I thought--"

"Why?" Taeyong asks, pushes himself up on his arms. Hates how hoarse his voice is. Doesn't know if it's saturated with surprise or arousal.

"I thought you wanted me?" Mark says, voice small and scared and _hurt._

And oh how Taeyong wants, so badly, to make it go away. To tell Mark he's forgiven for all his sins. For all his future sins. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if _Mark_ doesn't want _him_ when he's _sober._

Taeyong doesn't have it in him to lie. Especially not after he'd kissed Mark back.

"I do."

"Then why--"

"It doesn't matter if you don't want me, too, Mark."

Mark looks surprised, sobers up in the blink of an eye. His eyebrows climbing up to his hairline. He scoots back, folds himself neatly on his legs. "Hyung, you...?" He trails off. For the first time, Mark looks unsure. Looks young again.

Taeyong's eyes sting, his face burns hot. "Get out of my room," he grits out.

Mark stares at him, before nodding. He shuffles off the bed inelegantly, and closes Taeyong's door with a soft click.

Taeyong brings the blanket up to his chin, shivers, and doesn't cry.

-

He crashes Doyoung's bed, because it's easier. Because Doyoung doesn't ask things he doesn't want to know the answers too. Because Doyoung doesn't smell like watermelon and the sea and doesn't make Taeyong's heart stutter when he smiles.

"Talk to him." Doyoung yawns. He doesn't pull his blanket all the way up to his chin, and after months of being used to being so _warm_ it feels so _wrong._

"You don't have any idea what you're talking about."

"Yes I do," he rebuffs, ever the petulant brat. "I know you both better than you think."

There's truth to Doyoung's words, but Taeyong has always been good at lying to himself. "Not about this one, I think."

"I said I do." Doyoung flicks him on the forehead. Taeyong whines, shoves him aside. Doyoung doesn't budge. "Talk to him, give him more credit."

"I'll try," Taeyong says, but he crosses his fingers as he says it.

-

The door opens with a soft creak, and the bed dips. Taeyong expects it, the smell of watermelon, the slightly salty scent of the sea. It still doesn't prepare him for the rush of feelings, for the extra thump his heart gives, for the way he goes hot and cold at the same time. His hand fists the blanket. Taeyong forces himself not to move.

Taeyong is facing away from the door, so he can't see it. Can't see when Mark starts talking, can only hear his voice and feel his warmth behind him.

"When I was sixteen," Mark start quietly, "you were the strongest person in the world." he shifts, lies down, presses his own back against Taeyong's. Taeyong almost gasps, shudders. Mark is a long line of heat against his spine, and it makes every part of his body not in contact with Mark seem so very _cold._

"You still are, in a lot of ways," Mark continues, "I was so scared, and you were so nice. It was so easy to fall in l--to like you." Mark pauses. "I liked you a lot, hyung," he whispers. "But then I heard what you said to Johnny-hyung, and I--" Mark stops, his heavy breaths the only audible thing in the room.

Taeyong vaguely remembers a conversation with Johnny in the kitchen dorms. The way he'd laughed and said the same thing he'd said to Yuta.

"You broke my heart," Mark whispers.

Taeyong does gasp then, gets up so fast he's afraid he might give himself whiplash. He turns to Mark, Mark who has his face buried into Taeyong's pillow, is covering it with his arm. Taeyong dreads to pry it open, takes Mark's wrists in his hand so he could look at the face he's been missing.

Mark looks up at him with wet eyes, and Taeyong feels like the shittiest person in the world.

"I'm sorry, Mark, I didn't know--I--"

Mark averts his gaze, but doesn't pull his arms free from Taeyong's hands, lets them go limp instead.

"Then we had to promote with SuperM," Mark continues, again, as if Taeyong isn't spilling his guilt into the air. "I was scared, again, and I turned to the only source of comfort I knew. You." He laughs humorlessly. "You're still so nice, after all these years, even after I tuned you out. You were still so kind and you let me--" Mark's voice breaks. He blinks, clenches his teeth. "Of course I want you. I never stopped. I just thought that you didn't--that you'd never--never want me _back._ "

Oh.

_Oh._

Taeyong feels dizzy, feels lightheaded, heart too loud and too big in his chest. "Oh," he manages, and it's pure instinct from then on. Pure instinct to bend down and silence Mark with a kiss. Pure instinct that has him straddling Mark with his legs, pinning Mark's wrists by the side of his head, pure instinct that has him licking into Mark's mouth, forcing it open and earning him a soft moan from the boy of his dreams. Here and warm underneath him, here and _wanting_ him too.

"I like you," Taeyong whispers between kisses. And the gasp Mark lets out at a response is beautiful, addictive in quality, makes him feel giddy all over. "I like you so much. Go out with me. Date me. Be my boyfriend. All of it," he rushes. Kissing Mark over and over and over and over again.

When it peters out, and Mark has said all his yesses, and Taeyong all his sorrys, they lie facing each other again, like so many other nights before. Taeyong stares at Mark's sleeping form, his uneven eyelids, the mole covered by his eyebrow, the slow rise and fall of his chest. Feels the love swell and seep out through his fingertips, over his eyes and his nose and his mouth.

Taeyong lifts his hand, and this time, he reaches out to touch.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! Please leave me a comment! 
> 
> here's where you can find me:  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/carrotbakehyun) | [twt](https://twitter.com/diorboybaek)


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